September 14th, 2003

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Tijuana images

I was going to say that Tijuana has completely changed from its old days as a "border town for wild times", but then I'd have to dishonestly omit the story about the woman who offered to make me a "deal" just after I crossed the border last Sunday at 9 a.m. with promises of new experiences at a massage parlor which she expressed as having a burger king philosophy (have it your way, with a by the hour price, for, apparently, anything flame broiled one might seek), my polite refusal of same, and my angst over whether I look like a man who needs financial propositions (and people outside of farmacias offering me Viagra) and so I'll omit the "new Tijuana" observation. But it is much more than a seedy border town as some believe. It's a rich, vibrant culture, troubled and not materially wealthy, but somehow dignified in its own way, not altogether of either country, but its own thing.

By the way, she was very polite, kept telling me to smile, and then directed me to cheaper folk art once it was clear I was not a "massage type", to be found at the mercado by the church. I could not find the church, though I've been there before, and instead settled for the shops. Would you join me for a morning of pure joy, unfettered by stereotypes?

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Today I find myself reading past entries in my own journal. I hate it when I notice a comment I really liked at the time, but forgot to reply to in my own turn. I like that I can read an entry in my journal, and get a sense of continuity and of memory of the time and place as to the time about which I journaled. Maybe this is what I've missed by failing to keep a paper diary all these years.

In my literature classes in college, the professors kept making the point that those old Puritan journals were kept for the purpose of monitoring salvation. If one was acting gracefully each day, perhaps hellfire was not one's destiny. I do not believe that I draw any similar conclusions from my journal.

I've been reading Meyer's "The Positive Thinkers", a critique of the folks who began with new thought and have not ended yet. I'd scanned it before, and yet today it seems more poignant to me. What if this belief in words and mind is misplaced? Whatever happened to good old hard work? What if, in addition to all the forces arrayed outside the physical plane, there was the need for just simple kindness, and maybe a little elbow grease?

Complacency.Perhaps that is my enemy and my constant friend.